


Ghosts

by Eleos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Facebook: Hermione's Haven, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleos/pseuds/Eleos
Summary: The ball, commemorating the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, is meant to be a celebration: of light triumphing over darkness, of Harry emerging victorious, of an end to war and bloodshed, of new beginnings … But all Hermione can see are ghosts. Sometimes, forgetting is a war in itself.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hermione's Personal Library Drabble Elimination Challenge.
> 
> **Prompt:** “Forgetting isn’t something you can do for someone else. It’s something you do for yourself. It’s saying ‘You’re not important enough to have a stranglehold on me.’ It’s saying “You don’t get to trap me in the past. I am worthy of a future.’” - Jodi Picoult
> 
> **Pairing:** Hermione Granger/Astoria Greengrass

The Great Hall was full of ghosts.

Not just the visible kind—though the Grey Lady and Nearly Headless Nick were both in attendance, waltzing through the air above the partygoers’ heads. Hermione rubbed the MUDBLOOD scar carved on her arm. No, some ghosts you couldn’t see. 

The feast was joyful, commemorating the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. But in every corner lurked the memory of someone lost: Colin Creevey, eyes empty; Fred, crushed under a pile of rubble; Lavender, ravaged by Greyback; Remus and Tonks, cruelly taken away from their son. 

Half-listening to Ron, who sat beside her talking about the latest Auror raid on the Lestrange estate, Hermione surveyed the attendants. Hogwarts was filled with former students, Ministry officials, and Order members, celebrating the end to a decades-long period of darkness. A victory party for a battle fought and won.

In the corner of the Hall, however, sat a much quieter group, looking distinctly out of place—Slytherins and families of Death Eaters who’d managed to stay out of the direct conflict or who'd been acquitted of their crimes—not quite participating in the celebration but knowing their absence would be noticed. She recognized Draco, Blaise, Daphne, and Theo...but who was that other woman?

As if feeling her gaze, the woman turned to look at her, meeting Hermione’s eyes with her piercing blue ones. She stared for a moment, nodded, then smiled, before turning back to Malfoy and his companions, her curly auburn hair swishing as she moved.

Who _ was _ that? 

“Did you hear me, Hermione? I took some notes for you because I know you love this stuff.”

She forced herself to smile. “Sorry, Ron,” she said. “The elf wine must be getting to me. Tell me again what sort of wards they had set up.”

* * *

Two hours later, Hermione was drunk. 

She knew that voluntarily giving up control of one’s mental faculties was the height of recklessness. But what did it matter? She’d just seen Lucius Fucking Malfoy here, of all people. Apparently, he’d been released from Azkaban for “good behavior.” She knew he’d technically defected during the Final Battle, so late it no longer mattered, but after everything he’d done...

Across the Hall, Malfoy Senior ran a manicured hand through his long, blonde hair, the other perched atop his ostentatious cane. He chuckled at something a Ministry official said, gesturing to Draco beside him. Like he never left, never dirtied his hands by torturing Muggles and Muggleborns, never allowed atrocities in his own home...

Ghosts and more ghosts.

Hermione gritted her teeth. The alcohol, at least, coated her memories with a thick film; she still remembered, but the recollections didn’t sting. She poured herself another glass of punch—Seamus had spiked it, thank Morgana. 

“So, Lucius Malfoy’s driving you to drink too?”

Hermione spun, noticing the auburn-haired woman from earlier. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said cautiously.

“I was a couple of years behind you,” said the woman. She looked elegant, her face glowing in the candlelight. “I’m Astoria Greengrass.”

Ah. Daphne’s sister. Hermione tensed, though she didn’t remember the younger sister being one of Malfoy’s cronies.

“What makes you think I care about Lucius Malfoy at all?” Hermione asked. “He’s not worth my thoughts.”

“I agree,” Astoria said, raising her wine glass. “But he has a way of monopolizing them anyway…horrid man.” 

“I’m, uh, surprised you think so too,” said Hermione. “I’d have assumed you and that crowd all grew up together. Sacred Twenty-Eight and all.”

Astoria frowned. “Not all of us assimilated into the traditional Pureblood ideology so smoothly, Hermione,” she said. “Some of us were forced into it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I did grow up with Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and Theo. Our parents were friends, and politics never seemed to matter...until You-Know-Who returned.” Astoria smiled sadly at Hermione. “I admired you at school, you know. You were so unabashedly...you.”

“Um, thank you?”

“You always knew who you were and stood by it. I found myself in the middle of a war, and when I tried to resist, V-Voldemort—” She stumbled over the name. “He killed my father. Well, he had Lucius Malfoy kill him.”

“Merlin,” Hermione whispered. “I’m so sorry, Astoria.”

“He had wanted to give me to Greyback. I couldn't…” She sniffled. “Lucius was following orders, he told me later. Doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “Some scars stay with you.”

Hermione held up her arm. “He let his cousin do this to me in his drawing room. Cursed knife. At least I know she’s dead,” she said. “But seeing him waltzing around like nothing happened...It’s hard to forget when the marks are right there.”

“One thing I’ve learned,” Astoria said, “is that forgetting is not the same as forgiving. You think you can’t forget because that’s like giving in.”

“Like accepting what he’s done to you.” Hermione nodded. “And to those you care about.” She thought of the Muggles tortured at the Quidditch World Cup, Ginny and the cursed diary, all the fallen...

“If I needed to forgive Lucius Malfoy to forget, I’d never move on,” Astoria said softly, laying a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “You have to remember it’s not about him. Forgetting has nothing to do with him. You do it for yourself.”

Hermione glanced across the Hall at Malfoy Senior. “You’re right. Still,” she said, “fuck him.”

Astoria laughed. “Hopefully not. You may have noticed he’s a bastard.”

“And old enough to be my father,” Hermione joked.

“And not worth your time.”

Hermione smiled. “And not worth my time.” She _could_ forget, in time. She owed that to herself.

“Want to go outside for a bit?” Astoria asked. “It seems remiss we never met at Hogwarts.”

“I’d love to.”

Hermione surveyed the Hall as they exited, hand in hand. Amid the swirling dancers and the laughter, she felt a chill. The ghosts were still there. 

But this time, she felt, they were standing beside her, guiding her onward.


End file.
